Jeans
by Aislin30a
Summary: Jim finds Bones lounging around in nothing but a pair of old jeans. He likes what he sees.


Rating: T (for language and lead up to sexy times)

Pairing: Kirk/Bones

Summery: Jim finds Bones lounging around in nothing but a pair of old jeans.

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek and I'm not doing this for profit

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**Jeans**

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Jim is standing in the entry to Bones' bedroom, a couple of PADDs in one hand, the other frozen mid-gesture to emphasize a point he's trying to make about something that's _probably_ important. Though, for the life of him, he can't remember what it is. A very small part of his brain, the bit that provides helpful commentary on whatever crazy situations Jim manages to get himself into (sounding more and more like Spock every day), is watching the rest of his brain melt into a hormone infested pile of goo. It finds this reaction fascinating and engages the optic nerves to discover the cause. It promptly bursts into flames.

"Nghh..."

Bones doesn't react to Jim's abrupt change in conversation. He's sprawled out on his bed, attention focused on the PADD he's holding at perfect reading distance above his face. Studying what looks like the weekly summery of Med-bay's operations. His hair is mussed and he's chewing his bottom lip in the kind of distracted way that makes Jim's libido sit up and beg. It's entirely possible that he's just whimpered rather pathetically.

Bones can't hear him though, couldn't hear Jim's earlier chatter or his door slide open either, because he's got a pair of old-fashion ear-buds in, free hand tapping out a beat on his collarbone with his stylus.

His bare collarbone.

The curve of which glows rather nicely in the light provided by the nearby reading lamp. Bones' hand is resting against an equally bare chest, rising and falling as he breaths. Jim follows the line of Bones' forearm with his eyes, down to taunt skin stretched over the muscles of his abs. There's a trail of hair there, leading down into the waistline of Bones' favorite pair of threadbare jeans. They're riding low, revealing the jut of his hips. Jim swallows.

Trust Bones to look more sinful half dressed than most of Jim's past encounters have managed naked. The worst of it is, he's not even _trying_. Jim is convinced Bones has no idea how appealing he looks right now. He's just relaxing after his shift. Wearing his most comfortable jeans as an incentive to go over a boring report, shirt abandoned to the floor because it irritates him when it rides up. Completely oblivious to the fact that he's radiating casual sex from every inch of exposed skin.

Bones lets out a little huff of air, rocks his shoulders and rolls his hips as he shifts into a more comfortable position. Jim watches the motion, tongue darting out to moisten his lips. He barely registers the sound of his PADDs hitting the floor. Bones, on the other hand, seems to hear it loud and clear.

"Jim!" Bones says, eyes darting up in surprise. He rips the ear-buds out and drops his PADD to the side, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Didn't expect you for another hour. Hold on, let me grab a shirt."

The small Spock-voiced part of Jim's brain briefly rallies, prodding the rest into some semblance of order so Jim can mutter an appropriate response. It gets buried (protesting feebly) under a wave of lust induced psychosis when, instead of reaching for the shirt on the floor, Bones _crawls_ across his bed, leaps up and stumbles to his drawers for a clean one. Giving Jim an unobstructed view of Bones' denim clad ass.

It's an _amazing_ ass. Firm and rounded, a perfect contrast to the broad plane of Bones' shoulders and the angle of his trim waist. Just the right curve to fit comfortably against the palm of Jim's hand. Jim knows this because his hand currently has a firm grip on said ass, the other pressed firmly to Bones' shoulder, pinning him against the wall.

"Jim?" Bones asks, glancing over his shoulder, face still lightly flushed.

"You should wear these jeans more often, Bones." Jim says, nipping at the doctor's earlobe. He rolls his hips forward to illustrate just how much he likes them. A low moan rumbles against Jim's chest. He rewards the sound by sucking on the juncture of Bones' neck and shoulder. Scrapes his teeth over it when he's sure the spot is good and tender. Bones gasps, jerking his hips back in response.

"Bed." Jim says. He steps back, pulling Bones with him, turns them around and pushes Bones until his legs hit the mattress. He falls back, lands with a thump, and Jim clambers onto the bed after him, straddling his hips. He rips his jersey and undershirt over his head, tossing them to the side and stops a moment to take everything in. The feel of Bones, hot and hard between his legs. The lingering taste of salt and musk on his tongue. The look in Bones' eyes as Jim runs a hand along his ribs and up his chest, equal parts arousal, affection and fluster.

Jim takes Bones' hands from where they're rubbing slow circles on his thighs and pins them above the doctor's head, crushing their mouths together hard enough to bruise. He takes Bones' lower lip between his teeth and tugs, gentle revenge, before kissing a line down his neck to the hollow of his throat.

"A little early for this, isn't it?" Bones mumbles, voice low. Jim can feel the rumble of it as he dips his tongue into the small dent between his collarbones. He smirks as he drops kisses and little bites down Bones' chest.

"Psh! It's never too early for mind blowing sex." Jim chuckles and brings his hands down to hold Bones' hips still when he squirms as Jim nuzzles just below his navel. "If you didn't want to get jumped you shouldn't have worn these jeans."

"It's not my fault you insist on molesting me for completely random reasons." Bones grumbles. But he runs the fingers of one hand through Jim's hair affectionately as Jim kisses the skin just above the waistline of his jeans. Jim sweeps his tongue under the fabric, enjoying the way the muscles jump at the touch. He kisses the skin there once more before pulling away to flick the button open with nimble fingers. He starts to pull the denim away from Bones' hips but stops short, mouth suddenly dry.

"Bones," Jim rasps, far more aroused by what he sees than he would've thought possible. "You're not wearing underwear."

He looks up at Bones' face. He's looking up at Jim from under a hand resting over his eyes, as though he's hiding. His mouth is tense, with embarrassment Jim would have guessed but the eyes don't quite fit. There's a little jump in his cheek, as though he's trying to keep from showing what he's feeling. Jim's inner Spock chooses this moment to resurrect itself, flashing half remembered details behind his eyes in blazing technicolor.

Bones telling him to stop by his quarters after his shift so they could finish a discussion they hadn't been able to conclude during lunch. The way Bones hadn't managed to hear the chime of his door or Jim's enthusiastic argument but had picked up on the clatter of a couple of PADDs, no problem. How he'd rejected a shirt within easy reach to preserve his modesty, going for his dresser instead. _Crawling_ across his bed instead of just sliding his legs off the side. Stumbling over nothing, leaning forward to catch his balance. All calling attention to his ass, denim fitting snuggly like a second skin. No surprise at Jim's sudden presence against his back. The way Bones' accent hadn't surfaced _once_ despite the southern doctor's state of embarrassment.

Jim can feel the realization painting itself across his face. Bones watches his reaction and grins, eyes laughing at Jim from under the shade of his hand.

"You scheming bastard!"

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End


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